Sisyphean Tasks
by NoMittens
Summary: Not all who return stay found. A look at the What If Sasuke Never Really Returned via a thoroughly biased 3rd party. Guest starring: Uzumaki Naruto, Haruno Sakura, and co. Sasu/Saku, Naru/Saku
1. I: Prologue

**Title:**Sisyphean Tasks  
**Summary:**  
(You can't always go back.)

Part I: It's been eight years, but Sakura never did learn how to say no to Sasuke. Long are the days of the Hokage's wife.

**Disclaimer:**Blah blah, Naruto's not mine, blah blah.

* * *

**Prologue:**

**I. Children of Sound**

_**Who shot that arrow in your throat?  
Who missed the crimson apple?**_

He stood at the edge of the doors, lost amongst the forest, but merely a foot away from Konoha.

Sasuke? She asked.

Let's go back, Naruto said, but stopped before reaching for the other man's arm.

The man in front of them looked so old, it made them want to touch him, to reassure themselves that _yes_ he was finally _back_, and here to _stay_. Forever.

Five years, Sasuke said, before turning around.

Naruto and Sakura looked at each other, before watching him trudge inward, his shoulders hunched, hands jammed into pockets.

* * *

_Eventually…_

* * *

It was never meant to be a hard mission.

Karin burst into the room, her hands soaked in red. He doesn't look up from his paperwork.

"Team four is back. Two of them are unconscious, and Shiro-chan just collapsed at the gate." She waits for a moment. "All four of members of the gang are dead. Otokage-sama."

He takes off his glasses, and reaches for his coat.

* * *

It takes the medic hours to heal the teammates. The 'hospital' is a make shift tent, with a missing nin from mist who spent most of her days bound to Sound under the threat of kidnapping. She was good, but not great. It helped that Sound rarely had salvageable cases. Most were light scraps or euthanasia. Earlier in his career, he had skimped in funding, choosing to focus on recruitment from other villages. He didn't even have to advertise. The lure of escape and loose laws drew enough, and they were now just _finally_ at the point where they were self-sustaining. Population-wise.

But missions and money can only do so much. He is beginning to realize that without care, he would be no better than the predecessor.

He looks down at the chart.

Eight years old, and already completed a b-rank mission. His targets were photographed and the bodies – what was left of them – were sent back to the village. They had extracted whatever jutsu's they could, and now he is reviewing the report, written by the darker one. Ishiyo's son.

_Group of four. Originally planned on a surprise attack, but one of them had heightened senses. Teammate Chinatsu was the first on the offensive. _

Not that the boy was supposed to know. But for all of Sound's efforts at erasing parentage, it always leaked down. The fan is still imprinted on his clothes. He knows the difficulty of bearing a family name, and he has done his best to deconstruct it all. From base up.

_Shiro said nothing, and I covered her, and I lost track of him for a moment. _

He put it down. The mission was meant to be a capture, a proof of graduating the academy. The dead bodies meant orders had been disobeyed, but that meant skills in improvisation. Especially Shiro. The report would have to be finished by him. If the boy ever woke up.

Sasuke put a hand on his head. The kid is burning up, dangerously close to frying every synapse inside that small head. The medic swore that she had done everything she could, but it isn't enough.

He hesitates before unrolling a scroll, dipping his brush in the ink, and writing very gently.

_Haruno-san,_

_Sound formally requests your presence._

* * *

A/N: Next chapter up in a week. Promise. Lyrics from Hush Sound.


	2. I: Chap 1

**Title:** Sisyphean Tasks

**Summary:**

(You can't always go back.)

Part I: It's been eight years, but Sakura never did learn how to say no to Sasuke. Long are the days of the Hokage's wife.

**Disclaimer:**Blah blah, Naruto's not mine, blah blah.

**A/n:**If you hate original characters, this is not your happicuppa. Lyrcs by KT Tunstall.

Note – Asian women do not always take on their husband's last name. Fairly common in Japan, unless the woman has a career/is fairly liberal. I.e., two large qualities of Sakura.

* * *

**  
Chapter 1 **

**  
II. Once and the Future King**

**_Floating on an ocean, confused  
Winds are whipping waves up like skyscrapers_**

****

* * *

The letter sits in the pocket of her lab coat, and it taps against her thigh every time she moves. It sucks the breath out of her still.

How to tell him and twist the knife only a little.

She could pack her things, and leave behind dinner, a note on the fridge. Say nothing. In a hundred different guises, she's imagined this, and she can't help but think _maybe, maybe_, and hope.

She runs through scenarios – because she is still Haruno Sakura regardless of the ring on her finger – while busying herself with her life. Meals to make, toys to pick up, errands to run, reports to write.

It isn't until she washes the radishes, watching as they bobbed in the bowl of ice cold water, red hearts floating on nothing. The knife slices into her finger, and stills.

"Kasan?" Kazuki asks, looking up from his workbook. "You all right?"

She sucks on the wound, ignoring her own medic knowledge. The taste fills her mouth, saturating everything. Some of it has dripped into the bowl, and she watches the tendrils curl out in red clouds.

"Don't worry Ka-chan. I wasn't very careful, and knives are dangerous."

She smiles at him, and ruffles a tuft of Yuki's hair, giggling in the high-chair, his entire fist jammed into his mouth.

Kazuki has already pushed the chair towards the door, and reached for the band-aids in the cupboard, and brought them to her. His hair is fly-away blue, and she bites down hard on her lip.

"Thank you," she says, before telling him to go play with his sister.

That night, she tucks them all in, and rests at the door frame, watching REM cycles and counting breaths. The proper answer to this propositions is _never,_ but she also knows she can't even say _no_.

Naruto is late as usual, and she heats up his dinner, sits down to listen as he complained about bureaucrats and paperwork, not to watch the way his bangs played tag with the shadows on that face. She holds her breath until the image is blurry.

"Sakura?" He says, looking concerned. She unclenches her hands, and smiles.

"Yeah… I'm just…"

She's never gotten used to apologizing for Sasuke's mistakes, no matter how many times she's done it. So she settles for truth instead.

He listens before nodding and getting out of his chair, and turning on the faucet. She takes in his profile as he washes, unsure of how to word whatever she's folded away.

"You've already decided," he says, his lips in a smile, but his eyes adverted, before walking out of the kitchen.

* * *

He's already in bed, by the time she comes in, with the laundry tied in a bundle. He has forgotten to put away his robe, and she wordlessly hangs it up, smoothing her hands over it.

In the pocket, there used to be a small picture of the team, creased and winkled. She doesn't know when he took it out. Somewhere over the last 10 years, they had reversed positions, so that she was the one still watching dust collect on old photographs, while he was in the sun, comforting her by taking Kazuki or Kanon when she begins to look out in the window.

She can't help but hope that one day she'll wake up and he'll be there, just like old times.

Naruto has seen him though. There have been rumors of chance encounters, with the _Otokage_. But he stays reticent, even as he sends her off at down, little Yuki nestled in his arms.

He hasn't offered to come, and she is thankful.

Instead, he stands outside the gate, rolling his eyes.

"Don't forget to water the plants, and Yuki can't have anything sugary after five, or else he'll never go to sleep. Kanon just started the academy, but send her in after Kazuki or else he'll feel embarrassed. The food is in the freezer, so all you have to do it warm it up, and no, ramen is not a real substitute real food. Scurvy, Naruto, _Scurvy. _Oh oh – Don't summon anymore toads, because Kanon cries when they're released because she think they're dyin-"

"_Sakura_," he pouts, looking just as he always does.

"You don't have to do this," she offers, but he snorts.

"What kind of Hokage would I be if I didn't even see my own wife off!?" He bends to kiss her forehead, before backing away. She wants to reassure him, but of what. How.

The snake hisses behind them, and she ignores it, kissing Yuki on the head. The toddler squeals, and he shifts his hold.

"I'll be back within a week."

His face is unascertainable for a moment.

"Don't… don't expect anything, okay?"

She nods.

"Okay."

* * *

The bench was cold, and she shivered, hugging her knees to her chest. There was only one unguarded shortcut into the woods, all the others or watched or guarded. She remembered thinking of the sillyness of this oversight.

He doesn't make a sound, and she freezed, holding herself in, as he walked right past her, a bag slung over his shoulders, partially obscuring the Uchiha fan. He passed her without looking at her, and it took a moment before she could get up and march forward.

Sasuke-kun, she called, and he stopped, but never turned around.

He was taller than she remembered. Older. Spinning eyes. Naruto was there yelling at her side, waving his crutches wildly, but muted.

Running forward, she ran up to push him, to shove him, only to find herself too short to reach his shoulders.

A snake hissed in the background, and she watched as it wrapped around her.

She said, Tell Sasu-

It hissed.

Tell Uchiha-sama, that I doubt anything else can be done. I recommend amputation, but the patient is in such critical condition and that-

Then little Naruto, thirteen years old tugging violently at her sleeve.

Sakura-chan, tell him.

His older counterpart was perched on his desk, the hat on his lap, his head help up by hands. Face down.

Don't expect anything, okay?

* * *

He is right. The light is dim, and she winces as she pushes herself up. Her body aches, but the worst is over. She knows because she's administered this too, and she massages her temples.

"Haruno-san."

His voice rolled off of him, dark as always, so smooth it almost hurts. She looks up, before standing up sharply, refusing the spinning room.

"Bastard," she spat out. "How could you?"

"You shouldn't be up," He is taller, filled out.

"You understand why I had to." He is wrapped up in blue silk, the sound insignias in plain sight. He holds a glass of water to wards her.

"I thought Sound wasn't hidden anymore," she says, waiting until he sipped from it himself. Drugged once, twice shy.

"Not always."

There is so much to ask, and the questions pitter patter around her, before lolling away on the floor. Useless.

He has already opened the flap of the tent, and she follows him, despite the pain shooting down her legs.

"His name is Shiro. He has cracked ribs-"

"- a punctured lung, a shattered femur, burns on a fourth of his body from steam. He's been unconscious for a week, and his temperature has spiked. Did I miss anything?"

His eyes are black, and she tries to chip away at them, but they're glossy, soft. Matted and impervious as always.

"No, Sakura-san." The words are soft, but his face is hard.

She wants to tell him that she's heard of him. Of how Sound was gaining prominence, respect, and was on its way to be counted as another hidden village, and that the Uchiha sector still stands in Konoha.

There is a nine year gap in her memory, but she knows that face, and the ink black hair, and those long thing hands that used to trail down her spine, tracing circles along her hips. Not that it matters now.

"I'm not making any promises," she says, and his face is close enough that she thinks he might lean over and kiss her, but he only nods, and motions for her to follow.

* * *

"His team was on their first B-rank mission. They're fine for the most part."

She's already opened the bag, and pulled out the IV's, begun lining up bottles of antibiotics.

"How old is he?" she asks, taking a syringe and jamming it into the tiny bottle. She draws it out, tapping it.

"Eight." He says.

She turns sharply to look at him.

"Eight."

His expression doesn't even flicker. She looks down at his left side, where both samurai swords hung. It suits him.

She taps the arm, and the boy cries out. Using her own ungloved hands to steady the boy, she inserts the needle quickly, emptying it into his vein.

"What was that?" he barely raises an eyebrow.

"Morphine. So that what comes next won't hurt as much."

* * *

The boy screams as his body hit the ice bath. She ignores it, monitoring him, and toweling him off before returning him to sick bay. The only medic alive is a stout middle aged woman with two young underlings who don't even flinch while emptying out the blood. She tacks this to her mental list of things to worry about.

"Haruno-sama, he's flat-lining."

One of them is as old as Kazuki, and Sakura pushes her back, pressing both hands on top of his chest, pushing hard. She's cracked as many ribs as she's healed.

Conserving chakra meant manual resuscitation, but she's cheats, letting herself dive into him, her hands glowing blue. She places it directly over his heart, and massages it into starting.

The pulse is weak, but it's there, and she lets both the girls take over as she sits down and draws on reserves.

Weak chakra control is still the number one killer in patients, and the lack of sleep along with the strain of the nearly dead is weighing her down. She's also decided to give all the nurses bonuses when she goes back.

But, by the fourth day, the boy is awake, his ligands mended, muscles reattached, organs now unruptured and mostly pulsing.

Some would call it a miracle, but she knows better. He is lucid, and complies with the utmost politeness.

So she waits to explain _amputation._

* * *

Bones are the hardest to heal, since every cell is shaped like spindle fibers, and needed that to be rigidly stabile, but flexible enough to bond with the others. Then there were ligaments and tendons, muscles to blanket it. Too much chakra and the bones would fuse together too soon, leaving fissures and gaps, or worse, invading the surrounding soft tissues. Too little and it would be brittle, and shatter with a gentle nudge.

"You'll be under general anesthesia the whole time. We will sever the top of the femur, and then stitch the skin back together. The operation is usually quick, and your body should heal in a few weeks."

Usually when she gives this speech, she explains the many uses a shinobi can give to Konoha even without it But this is Sound.

"Will I ever take on a mission again?" He asks. His eyes are wide, and he is unnervingly calm.

"Mostly likely no." She doesn't look away, and despite all her leaf-instincts, is impressed by how his face stays neutral, never giving himself away. What an investment to lose.

"There may be some phantom pain, where the brain is so used to sending messages down to those nerves that it will fool itself into doing so." But mostly, there is a numbed sensation that spreads, until you are acutely aware of an absence. Then even that fades away."

She does not lie and tell him it will get easier over time.

The problem with the human body, was that while it could survive beneath multiple ailments, tortures, and attacks, it will never regenerate a limb, or anything else it loses. She's been saving lives for a very long time, but she's ended just as many.

"Thank you," he says, and she notices that there is a strand of white hair speckling his brow. She nods, before walking out, and leaning lightly against the outside wall.

* * *

Sick Bay is never quiet. Standing by the tent opening, she can hear each patient as they toss and turn, or scream and plead. Her job is to focus on this one little boy, who has curled up on his left side, pretending to sleep.

Sometimes she wonders what would have happened if she had gone to a university, studied and found a job as something else. Been someone else.

There is a movement by his bed, and she narrows her eyes. It's a small girl, with bright orange hair, who has hobbled over to his bed.

She looks at him for a very long time, and whispered in his ear. Sakura stepped out of the light, just as she pushed herself away from the bed.

"It isn't very nice to spy on people," the girl says.

"Are you his teammate?"

"Only until he dies." She says. A flicker of something, and then nothing.

Sakura says nothing, and the two stand awkwardly until the girl breaks out in a wicked smile.

"How do you know Otokage-sama?"

"We were teammates… a long time ago."

The girl laughs, before rushing out, leaving Sakura behind in the darkness, feeling the same sinking feeling of _déjà vu_.

* * *

He is already outside beneath the sun. She walks out to join him.

"What will happen to him?" she says.

He says nothing.

"The infection is in his bones. Even with all the work I've done…The body can only take so much."

"Sound will no longer have any use for him."

She cannot look at him right now.

"You can't just throw him away." She says. "Toss him out with everything else _you don't want_."

The silence is palpable. It is a while before he looks at her.

"It was their first mission. The men tied up his teammates, and he was left alone to face them. He took out all three, and carried his teammates home."

He looks so young.

"He came into the village, voluntarily, a few years ago. Fix him… _Please._"

If he was anyone else, he would have begged. But he is an Uchiha, and they never did learn how to plead. He watches her for a few moments, before being called away. Bitterly, she understands that she knows his backside better than his front.

* * *

And in the end, she does the impossible, and collapses afterwards. This time, there are no dreams.


	3. I: Chap 2

**Title:**Sisyphean Tasks P1 C2 

**Summary:**

(You can't always go back.)

Part I: It's been eight years, but Sakura never did learn how to say no to Sasuke. Long are the days of the Hokage's wife.

**Disclaimer:** Blah blah, Naruto's not mine, blah blah.

**

* * *

**

**Part I. **

**Chapter 2: **

**III. Homecoming (I)**

_  
City bird, maybe these hands that feed you need you  
Maybe you understand that, city bird_

* * *

There is a soft voice, and the smell of something warmth. A towel on top her head. She wants to protest that she's absolutely fine. 

Stop. Drink this.

The taste of broth fills her mouth, lulling her to sleep.

I'm fine. Tell my family I'm fine.

Is her mouth moving? She can't tell. The world is heavy and soft, and it pulls her back into the darkness.

* * *

Naruto knows that belief is an extra-ordinary thing. It can bring back friends, and heal wounds to raw to say, but it cannot conquer grief. He is old enough now to recognize his companion. As much as he wanted to believe in her, the nagging doubt is there, whispering and disrupting his daily tasks. 

"Are you listening to me? Uzumaki-sama! We need to move now. The recent lack of activity of Sound-"

He lets out an exasperated sigh. Sound will always dance across his files, but each time, he stands firm by what he decreed the moment he took office. It is an ally, and it will not attack unless provoked, so let's not fucking provoke it. This he can believe.

But a week has passed, and he takes down a picture from the shelf. She is smiling with the bastard, who looks less stoic than usual. Naruto remembers taking this at the park. She is looking at him, but he is completely focused on the camera, or the man behind it.

A puff of smoke, and he sees a funny little blob of color slither across his desk, squeezing itself between piles of overdue paperwork.

It uncoils itself and presents a small card. He tries hard not to look as disgusted as he feels, and reaches out to take it. Gingerly.

_Exhaustion. She's fine. Two or three days, max. _

_- S. _

There is a little fan on the back, and he traces over it with half-bit nails.

The snake cocks its head, and leaves, but not before contorting its face into a smile, and accidentally knocking a picture onto the floor.

He picks it up after it has gone. The glass is cracked, but Sakura is there in the hospital, looking tired, as he holds up Yuki with Kanon and Kazuki beaming. He is giving the Might Guy pose, with his thumb jutting out, the smile almost breaking his face.

It wouldn't change later, even as he carried her home, refusing to put her down despite her weak, but vociferous protesting. He laid her out on the bed, and stayed up watching her breath, half expecting someone to knock on his door, looking glum with congratulations, but it never comes.

After two or three days, he takes a walk toward the gate, waiting until a messenger was sent to remind him that he was over two hours late to the meeting. Of course, he said, and walked away, allowing himself to turn back only once.

* * *

"Exhaustion." 

"Oh," she says. Years ago, she would have blushed. Now, she nods. The smell of tomatoes and the thick piles of paper. This is his house.

"Don't worry, I've already notified… the Hokage. And your family."

The words are on her tongue, and she wants to say them, to ask if he has ever looked out across the plains and wondered.

"Thank you, Sasuke," she says instead.

The autumn light has delicately drifted in, and she pulls herself out of the bed. He nods, and she imagines that he is about to say something to her.

"You may leave whenever you like."

She looks straight at him, because she knows. He will never come back to them. She is twelve years old again.

"Tomorrow then. After we talk about Sound's lack of proper medical facilities."

He leaves the room, shuffling out like a man whose life is already decided. Spent.

She swallows this picture in small silent gulps, and reminds herself to tell this story to Kazuki, who at seven years old, thinking the_Otokage_ might as well be superman.

After he is gone, she touches her cheeks and finds they are inexplicably wet.

* * *

The town is impressive. In the sunrise, all the buildings jutted out of the grassy plains, like small islands in a green saguaro sea. 

The boy has limped out, impassively watching her. His face shifts, and perhaps it is the sun, but she is sure that for a moment, he has copied her features. Beside him stands the Otokage and another large summon.

"Remember to rest a little," she tells him, and be good. She mentally adds.

Then, she turns to Sasuke, and away all her preplanned words seem to flee.

"I hear that it takes five hours to relocate the entire village." She says.

"Four. If you don't count burning time."

He clears his throat, looking so very awkward for a moment. It takes her back, and makes her realize that they are a little more than thirty. The years, she thinks. All those years.

"How is he?" He asks almost tentatively- if the Uchihas ever did tentative.

She shakes her head.

"Fine. Well enough." She wants to tell him the truth, but she can't bear to deliver it. She might never see him like this again, purposeful but not all-consuming, homicidal, but with a kernel of warmth.

"I've seen him. He looks well." He says, looking past her towards Konoha.

She nods.

"Thank you, Sakura."

And it is as tenderly painful as it's always been.

* * *

He is sleeping when she finally treks home. Turned on his side, his back towards her, and she gently lies down on the other side, flak jacket and all. 

"You're home." He says, as he turns his head, and there on his face, everything is laid out bare. It may as well been a million years since he last saw her, and he cannot look away.

She looks at him with such nakedness as she brushed her lips against his wet eyelashes, as hesitant as he is surprised.

"You were right," she says. Her voice a little hoarse. "He's never coming back."

* * *

A/n:If you hate original characters, this is not your happicuppa. Lyrics from KT Tunstall/same song. 

Okay that ends a lot of the Konoha set plotline. The next parts are going to be very different. So if you've stayed for the Sasu/Saku, you'll have to wait. And if you stayed for the Saku/Naru, you'll have to wait. And if you stayed for anything even similar, then you'll reaaaaaaally have to wait.

If you've replied, I've made my comments available on my livejournal. The personal message thing is just inconvenient.

Thank you though, a million times over.


	4. II: Chap 1

**Title: **Sisyphean Tasks

**Summary:**

(Not all who return stay found.)

Part II: A look at the What-If-Sasuke-Never-Really-Returned via a thoroughly biased 3rd party. Guest starring: Uzumaki Naruto, Haruno Sakura, and co.

**Disclaimer: **Blah blah, Naruto's not mine, blah blah.

* * *

**Chapter 1:**

**I. Logical Pessimism**

**_The big fish eat the little ones  
Not my problem give me some_**

* * *

"Do you believe in Sound's mission?" One of the elders leans forward. He looks up, his face impossible to decipher. He can't hear a single heartbeat, which means two things. They know exactly who he is, and know how to stifle his abilities. 

"I believe in Sound's realistic approach to shinobi life." He finally answers.

"We want you to keep watch over a member of Sound. We want you to use your… special capabilities."

"Spying?" His eyebrows arc upwards.

"We prefer reconnaissance."

Shiro looked down at the file name.

_Uchiha, Sasuke_

* * *

Walking out the doors, Shiro refuses to squint in the early morning sun. He sees a familiar head of spikey green at the bottom of the stairs, yawning as she stretched out on her back, all elbows and knees, haphazardly strewn about on cold stone stairs. Nearby, Isamu leans against the stone, half-listening, half-waiting, his staff balanced on the crook of his neck, extending its long shadow on towards the village. 

Years of training prevent him from stumbling, and he smoothly saunters down the stairs, stopping when his shadow drapes across her head. She closes her eyes, except for the growl of aggravation that only he can hear.

He jabs her with his toe, and she opens one scowling eye.

"Took you fucking long enough."

"I see you've changed your hair. Yet again." Shiro says, and jumps over her, landing in a crouched position.

"Some of us have to work for it. So what's the mission. What's your plan, Shi. Ro. Chan." She throws it in as insult to injury, and laughs.

"Not really. Most of the team leaders were there. Teams 1, 6, and 13 have been picked. We've been…_passed over_ this year."

She swears violently.

"You should get off the ground, Chinatsu-kun, unless you like the dirt." He doesn't smirk, but it's there etched along his jaws, almost out of reach.

"Fuck off, Fishhead." She gives him the finger, and Isamu rolls his eyes.

Fact: this is team four.

* * *

Eventually, he has had enough, and he shakes them off, leaving Isamu to deal with Chinatsu. He is a kilometer away, before he turns around to look back. A twig of a girl with a fierce mop of green versus a dark shade of umber, set against the backdrop of pale marshland. It is almost jarring in the afternoon sun. 

It has been five years, and he has never asked why there is still a fault line between them, visible and glaring. He just doesn't care.

Turning around, he returns to town. There he slinks back into the common house, and streches out on his bed. The blinds are drawn, the door is locked, and after setting up a perimeter barrier – not that he needs it, but he won't take chances – he begins.

Undoing the henge, he smoothes out the manila folder, holding it in his hands for a bit. He tests the weight, the thickness, before ripping it open and systematically sorting the information.

They've really amassed a lot of information. Hospital records. Team History. Sharingan information. Three generations of family. He makes tidy specific piles.

There are pictures of his residence, a catalog of every book he has owned since returning to Sound. A list of attacks, and preferred tactics. Speeches, all six of them, and years of council minutes. Akatsuki notes still brown with coagulated blood.

He reads carefully, taking shorthand notes. He does not stop until his teammates are back, sweating and laughing, asking him what has he been doing _all this god damn time_?

"Preparing." He answers, and tells him to go to evening practice without him. He needs time to think, to plan, to reassure himself that he is not utterly fucked.

* * *

Sound wakes up at dawn to the drizzle of summer rain, and by the time Team 4 is out on the training grounds, the town is already chugging along to its own rhythm. They have been _passed over_ this year so he's elected to go train. 

"The instructors will get pissy." She says.

"There aren't enough shinobi to have organized team leaders. How are they going to notice us?" He shuts the drawer, and pockets the shuriken.

Isamu agrees. 'Better then those damn classes.' He signs with his hands.

Shiro did not sleep much, and when he drifted off to the sound of his roommates static heart rhythms, he dreamed of dark red skies and still oceans. He is used to the dull ache of not sleeping, but not to Chinatsu's grating barbs about _your little truant romp. Wink. Wink. _He does what he has always done when Chinatsu began to act up. He politely told her to _Shut the hell up_._Please._

"So was she good? Did she use tongue?" She is behind him, like a fly that could kill.

He grits his teeth and tells himself that he can wait until they are training, and then he can blame the wounds on rough sparring. The rules are unusually harsh for 'disrupting team dynamic' and 'unprovoked assult on teammates.'

"Oh. Wait. _Was it a he_?"

He imagines how her neck will feel between his fingers.

Briefly, something tugged at him, until he had thought about telling them, if not the mission basics, at least he had one - so would you please go bother someone else Chinatsu.

But here she is, in the back, telling him to hurry the fuck up.

Fact: The mission was given to him, with warning of messy possibilities should it be botched, or should he be compromised.

Typical Sound. Typical secrecy banked upon secrecy. He's filled his mind with maybes, none of them that explain why they've put this on a genin's shoulders. He thinks it could be a test, and he isn't sure which option he'd prefer.

Up ahead the marshes thinned out until the wetlands opened up to reveal large groves of unmarked Cypress trees, curving upwards towards the sky, their roots, tangled knots below. In one spot, a tree had fallen years ago, and they had smoothed down the enormous trunk and marked it with their wear and tear.

Circled by static blue-green water, it was a picturesque little thing.

He slaps his neck. Complete with summer insects.

"God, I hate this marshland." Chinatsu says. "I missed our little plain hideaway. Temperate and full of grass." She almost slips on the water. "Full of nice, _solid_, earth"

Isamu snorts while using his hands. 'That's only because you were found in the desert. Some of us don't mind water.'

She looks away. "A lot to say coming from you, oh Mist-born." She ignores the hardened jaw, his lips now drawn into a thin line. He says nothing, and merely unsheathes his staff.

"Don't be a bitch, Chinatsu." Shiro says. "It's forbidden to speak of lineage. Rule number 3."

He doesn't even bother to keep the sarcasm out of his voice, but Isamu doesn't even turn around.

"Especially if it was a scandal."

"_Fishhead_. The day I kill you will be the best day_ of my life_," she snaps, moving into position, and he smiles, lunging forward, attacking first.

* * *

Insomnia is rare in Sound, and he'd know. At night, Sound continues on its roaring pace, and from his bed, he extends his hearing radius as long as possible before the whispers at the edge overwhelms him. 

The clock says 3:47. Shiro rubs his eyes, and rolls toward the edge of his comforter. Sound's logic of a communal nursery, a continual academy, a place stripped of parental attachments, class, and all those silly little prejudices that children easily inherit is spectacular, yes, but these nights are the proof that there were cracks in every great theory.

He tries to isolate Chinatsu's heartbeat, but it flutters and intermixes with Isamu's, and he is forced to listen to their combined rhythms. He clenches his teeth. Mattress spring songs of muffled sex. Chinatsu, mumbling incoherently in her sleep, face pressed into the pillow. Even if he did manage to start a fight, the chances of a teacher rushing in were low when compared to the chance of one of them dying. Chinatsu has called dibs on killing him since they were 8 years old, and given her list of assassinations, he isn't sure she would be the one dying.

Touching his forehead protector, he dreams of being chuunin, and then he could finally apply for a single room somewhere at the edge of town. He's already completed the application.

Another loud and jarring moan, and Shiro shuts his eyes, before giving up, and getting up.

* * *

The library isn't open, but that has never stopped anyone. He walks towards the back, only after he's sure he's alone. The window is closed, and he kicks the clasp open, before slipping inside and closing it afterwards. 

The basement is dark, and the smell of mildew stagnates above wet parchment. He can do this blindfolded - actually did once for a mission - and he knows that directly above him hangs a candle. He reaches behind his ear and lights a match with his palm. Stepping back, he sucks in air, before blowing it evenly, releasing a steady stream of fire. It works, and the candle once lit gives off a dim glow. For him, it's as bright as day.

He goes towards the bottom shelf, ignoring the light limp in his left foot. The dust is too thick, and he shields his mouth as he dusts off the entire row. Pulling them all down. He sits cross-legged, and opens the first one, scanning it.

It's a boring narrative in the first-person, describing rice-country before Orochimaru. He rolls it up and stuffs it back on the shelf. The next is a report on agriculture, nauseating in detailing how _due to Sound's primary product of human ingenuity -_ selling skills rather than wares - _the state of agriculture was appalling_. And in fact_, if it hadn't been for Uchiha-sama_ and how he offered near-by towns protection, Sound would never have survived. Of course, Uchiha-sama didn't mention that it was the old Sound who had been attacking, but that was just proof of good leadership.

Interesting, but no. He goes over it twice before carefully placing it back on the shelf.

The rest of the scrolls are useless. He continues, pulling out entire shelves at a time, before stuffing them back. Then, he finds one scroll, stuck in the far crevices of the far wall.

He opens his pack, before taking out a small notebook and uncapping his pen with his teeth.

_History of Konoha. Uchiha was clan, before sudden death. Reference back to original data. Info. On brother scanty at best. _

_Q: Ask Suigetsu. Not in love like Karin – will be truthful. _

A light begins to drift towards him. He looks up.

"Breaking into the library? Tsk. Tsk." She shakes her head, before pulling the lantern towards her face, and smiling.

"Haruka-san… So the rumors of your illiteracy aren't true after all."

"You're such a pleasant person, Shiro-kun."

He can't move the scrolls, or else she will know he is hiding something, so he waits.

"The history section?" She says, sounding genuinely bemused. "Studying for old times sake?"

"Not really." He says, hiding his notes in his sandal while she surveys the mess. He's never had to study, and everyone knows it.

"So I hear your team is going to the chuunin trials." He says. "I assume that's why you're here."

She shrugs.

"Fuyu was there last year in Grass, and told me to be worried."

Shiro wants to say that Fuyu worries about everything, but that meant conversation, and he'd much rather she just leave.

"I hear that Konoha is especially tough. There's a rumor that Hokage there used to be the teammate of Uchiha-sama, that this will be the first time he's seen his team in years."

"Oh?" He says. She narrows her eyes, before throwing the scroll back on the shelf.

"You should wipe your prints." She looks at her hands, smooth and line-free. "Since you haven't mastered your morphing ability…I don't have to worry about it, but you might."

"Thanks." He says, the delicate curl of his grin imperceptible in the dark.

"Oh and watch out for the sentries."

"This is the library. We may be the only people who've been here in a year."

"I know." She says, smiling, before disappearing.

He takes his time, reorganizing the mess. She may come back still, and being untraceable, but he is at the disadvantage. After an hour, he peeks out the window, and spots a sentry passed out. His breath reeks of chloroform, and he holds his nose while jumping down.

He rolls his eyes, as he returns to the commons. Jeez, Haruka.

* * *

**II. **

_Sleeping is giving in, no matter what the time is.  
Sleeping is giving in, so lift those heavy eyelids._

* * *

Hiraku-sensei stands before them, his arms out and glowing with chakra. He stretches his left out before drawing it in. 

"The key to good jutsus, is proper chakra control and endurance. Both of which are addressed by Taichi."

The younger genin giggle in the front. Isamu and Shiro stay in the back with their age group, most of whom are rolling their eyes. They step forward, keeping their posture, synched in time.

"Good. Good. Keep the fluidity, let it build."

He estimates at least 20 genin on the hill. A few of the more advanced students were practicing further along the marshland, but he stays with his teammate. He cannot afford to be noticed right now.

From position to position, he moves his chakra through his body, opening the pools and allowing his thoughts to float along. The sun is setting, and the fireflies have begun to glow, mimicking the chakra swirling on the field.

He turns to the left, and watches Isamu. His form is not quite as graceful, but he is a wind type. His arms are too rigid, too sharp. The moves looked hostility copied, not learned, and it shows.

"Loosen your arms. It'll make it easier."

Isamu ignores him, and continues onward, stretching and pulling the chakra in his hands.

Shiro moves into the crane position, extending his left foot then right, before bringing them back. If Hiraku-sensei wasn't a water type, he would have skipped. He looks at the empty space beside him. Much like Chinatsu seems to have done.

He closes his eyes, extending his thoughts as well as his arms.

Isamu grunts, and he opens one eye. Then he opens both. The ticking of someone else. Smoothly, he dips his arms, leaving his stances looser, just in case.

They were close enough to see, he guessed. Probably to hear. He can hear the steady beat, no hint of adrenaline which means they think they're safe.

"Where's Chinatsu?" He asks, quietly.

Isamu nearly stops, and raises an eyebrow.

'Chinatsu is soaking her hands. She asked Azami-san to show her some new tricks. The idiot.'

Shiro nods. Whatever they wrote down would not be worth commentating. The rest of the practice is done in silence.

The dinner bell rings, and Hiraku-sensei claps his hands to dismiss the class.

Shiro begins walking back, ignoring the strange look Isamu has given him.

He takes off his sandals as he nears the commons wall, holding them in his arms, as he padded towards the room, skipping dinner. He needs to sit down. To strategize.

When did the council send sentries for a reconnaissance mission?

* * *

The address was scribbled on the back of the folder. 

He lives in a humble little house on the outskirts of town. A good 20-something meters of intentional physical distance. Shiro has walked by a hundred times, and would never have believed that this modest little thing is called what the Otakage calls home.

He watches from the shadows, far enough to mask his identity, but close enough so that he won't strain himself. He hopes it will be enough, but he knows the sharingan sees all, and any flash of red will detect the presence of chakra. Until then, he thinks.

Through the window, he spies a soft light, candles probably from the flicker. No flowers. No curtains.

And at that moment, Shiro decides that this mission can only end in one way. Death. Either by Uchiha-sama's hand, or from council after they strip him of his Sound status. The man was dense as a rock, calculating, cold, beyond his measly capabilities as a spy. Ears and Eyes be damned. He scowls at his own desperation.

Movement.

Closing his eyes, he sharpens his hearing, allowing the chakra to gather in stray details of Otakage's life. He waits, and waits, until his ears are pulsating, ready to bleed, and he can almost feel sleep crash around his feet, threatening to suck him in and drag him underneath. He stays still, however, because he is Kimmuro Shiro, and he does not do half-assed.

The window opens, and Shiro is taken aback, as the Otokage is staring out into the night. Scanning. And Shiro releases the bushin, but not before a terrifying thought pierces his mind.

He was expecting me.

* * *

In the five years that Isamu has known Shiro, he has never seen the boy cry, or study as though he needed to. Isamu has never seen him lose his temper, or initiate an unnecessary conversation, but most of all, he has never seen the boy sleep. 

Usually the boy waits until both he and Chinatsu drift off, before probably doing the same. In the morning, he wakes them up, already showered and dressed. He could possibly nap at odd hours, but boys like Shiro don't nap, and the permanent bags under his eyes are proof.

He expected the room to be emptied, and literally stopped when he finds Shiro on his side, seemingly unconscious. A hand beneath the head, and still dressed in his uniform. Isamu silently pads towards his own bed, careful not to disturb the boy, and begins removing his own shoes.

He almost leaps up himself, as Shiro sits up, eyes wide open. Isamu notes the white knuckles, wide eyes. A stranger wouldn't notice a thing, but Isamu is almost positive that Shiro is afraid.

If he was honest with himself, Isamu would admit that he has never felt comfortable around Shiro. There is a gleam in the Shiro's eye that he has never liked. A second glance that strips you down. Ears that calculate heartbeats, and a nose that only the marsh could stop. And the uncanny ability to replicate anyone he has ever met, matching fidgety mannerisms or slight facial flaws, if just for a moment.

But then again, in the five years, the boy has never asked about his cut-up tongue, and that is enough most days.

The so-called genius is staring out into the window, his face so blank it hurts to watch.

Shiro turns.

"Why are you staring at me?"

'Whatever you're plotting, as long as it doesn't involve her or me, I won't care,' his hand trails off.

"What makes you think I'm plotting?"

Isamu quirks an eye, and undoes the lacing quietly, listening as the door opens and closes.

* * *

A/N: You tell her Shiro. Lyrics by Radiohead and Arcade Fire respectively. All reviews will be addressed via livejournal. Eventually. 


	5. II: Chap 2

**Chapter 2:**

**III.**

_We saw you from the ocean's side, from under the boat  
We saw you making knots, we saw you get the rope_

* * *

Shiro was born on the ocean, and might as well have been swaddled in seaweed. His father was a fisherman, and some nights he would stare out into the windows of his fishing boat, and stand there for hours, until the wife began to nag or the children were killing each other. Again. Shiro remembers the eyes as they bored into the broken window panes, slowly allowing himself to dissolve into the cold achingly grey. Shiro knows the ocean can swallow a man while he is standing on dry land. So too, can an idea.

When he does allow himself to sleep, his dreams are filled with an ocean of red, and twice he has seen the tamoe shift in Uchiha-sama's eyes. He knows what the man's favorite food is, how he fights, where he lives, but there are more questions than he can answer. He might as well try and stop the tide.

"Oi! Fishface, we're about to leave. Hurry up."

Shiro glares at Chinatsu, before continuing to lace up his shoes, throwing on his vest, and pocketing his shuriken. He does not look at Isamu, who sits on the bed, drawing the wet stone across the blade.

He dares him to mention last night, almost expecting Chinatsu to comment on being slothful. But Isamu continues sharpening his blade, mute as always.

He watches, before tying on his forehead protector.

Isamu holds up the blade towards the barely lit sky, before twisting it onto the staff in one quick spin.

* * *

They had been training for over an hour before they realized who was watching them. Chakra aside, the water masks most scents, and muffles sound, so even Shiro is caught off guard. For a terrifying moment, he wonders if he's been found out, and if Uchiha-sama will use his swords, or worse those spinning red eyes of his. Then, his mind kicks in, and logic grinds his panic into smaller pieces. 

Fact: The Otokage was not a subtle man.

If he was had, he would have already been dead. The pictures of his enemies were proof of the Otokage's killing style. Swiftly, boldly, and without hesitation.

Efficient too, Shiro thinks - changing back to his original body. If he has time between duties to watch his genin train.

He is close. Standing on the waters, complete with his black hakama trousers, the fan collar just peeking out. Shiro stares back, intently tracing this into his head. Formal blue silk on pale skin, with jadedly cropped hair, now haloed by the setting sun. His eyes are already red and spinning wildly. Even the trees seem to give way, and Shiro realizes that the man was technically shinobi royalty.

Is.

It was almost sickening, this scrutiny.

Isamu coughs, and Shiro turns around, motioning for Chinatsu to stop, but she is just as mesmerized as they are, and is looking almost complacent towards the figure before them.

"Otokage-sama." Shiro says, and the man raises an eyebrow.

Shiro pauses slightly, before bowing to his Otakage, who is already dissolving before them into wisps.

'That was interesting,' Isamu tries on stoic, but his twitching hands betray him.

"I think you mean surreal." Sighs Chinatsu, who is looking unabashedly awed. "When has the Otokage _ever_ overseen practicing genin?"

Gritting his teeth, Shiro reminds himself that exams are three months away, and then he would be free. Both of this mission, and of being _passed over_.

"You're just pissed because you were losing." Chinatsu says, smirking as she cocks her infuriating head.

"Idiot. This year, the exams are held in Konoha. His hometown. Of course Uchiha-sama is going to be extra attentive to all the genin." He watches as Chinatsu has the gull to stand there laughing hysterically. She can always tell when he's lying.

* * *

Karin is waiting for him as they come back from the training grounds. He excuses himself from the team, who are all too happy to see him leave. Chinatsu even adds a _go and unlodge whatever crawled up your ass and died. _ And he is too tired to be properly embarrassed for her. 

He strolls towards her, hands in pockets, and takes in her profile. She has tied up her hair, and adopted a more formal robe, but the short-shorts are still there, and she still has the same glasses. She pinches his cheek until it hurts, and he draws in chakra and for a brief moment, his body flickers into her mirror image.

"You've gotten better," she says, heading for the tree tops. "You have the body down but the face needs more work. I'm much better looking than that."

"I can only work with what I've been given." He says, his lips twitching into a flat smile.

"Brat."

He follows her, stopping as they near land's edge.

"Report."

Shiro rolls his eyes. Typical Sound.

"We've never been known for patience, but it's been four days." He says, keeping his back straight in case he has to dodge.

"We don't have the luxury of time. And I've cleaned out the area, so don't bother checking for heartbeats. "

"Fine," Shiro says. "He swung by today's training grounds, and after asking around, it seems he visited the teams picked for the exams… and mine. My theory is that he is doing it now because this is the first time he has to go back to his hometown, and when adding in the factor of his brother..."

Shiro watches for expressions, listens for teeth clenching or quickening heartbeats, and sure enough, Karin gives herself away with a small twitch in her lower right eye. She has never had the physical discipline. Not like Uchiha-sama.

"Itachi and Konoha being such large forces -"

"I know."

Same twitch, and it clicks.

"The council didn't ask for this report. This is for your own, isn't it, Nee-chan?"

She gives a lazy smile, and shrugs. It is the same one she gave when she asked him if he wanted to come to Sound, to _something more than this nice little town._ The same one she uses before striking the death blow.

* * *

The walk towards the council is 189 steps from the common house, and it is the longest walk he's ever known. 

He has run countless simulations, paced across study rooms, torn apart the library, but he is sure now. He has failed, and if he waits, he will die very quickly or very slowly. And he would much rather run toward his fate, then away from it.

The dark eyes. The signature.

If he is penalized, and there will be consequences for failure, he will be stripped of his protector, and then probably death. If the hunternins didn't get him, he would be left with himself.

So, he has taken the old academy tanto. It is blunt, but it will do.

The doors are not guarded, and he lets himself inside. A receptionist is in the lower lobby, and he asks for a meeting with the council.

"Oh, not now. Uchiha-sama is out, and they're currently in session –_hey! What are you doing? Get back here!"_

She follows him, but he is faster, and he navigates through the hallways that he has memorized, before opening the two plain wooden doors. He open both with force, much harder than he meant to. The silence inside is deafening, and if he believed in signs, this would definitely be one of them.

"I apologize for the theatrics, but I've failed."

* * *

He strikes the pole hard enough to fracture it in two, and the pieces shattering into splinters before they hit the water. He ignores her presence. 

"I'm sorry we couldn't tell you." She finally says.

He doesn't turn to look, focusing instead on cleaving it cleanly in two. He spins around, trying to remain polite.

"There are two poles left. I would prefer to remain uninterrupted."

Shiro-chan…I know you feel angry… It's just." She fiddles with her glasses, before trying again. The plea is gentle, but it is there.

"I don't see why I wasn't told."

It was partially his fault for not suspecting. This is Sound. He should have known.

He turns back, and with a swoop, the next pole is obliterated.

"Think about the mission. We couldn't have told you. It could've interfered with your planning, and it definitely would have hurt our chances of success. _Shiro-chan._"

She pauses at his unexpected interruption, before schooling her face, and continuing. He wants to cross his arms, but it will be a sign, and he is old enough to know that the trees are always watching.

"Observation Principle. You could've changed your tactics. If you knew… Did you really think they were going to let a _ki_- one person handle it? I'm sorry. Really. But this isn't about your fucking ego."

He looks at her, and deliberately lets the smallest bit of flint into his voice.

"I understand _sacrifice_."

She has the decency to blush and look away.

"What more can you possibly expect of me?"

"Watch him. Figure out whatever he's been worried about. Report on anything that's strange."

He shakes his head. Idiots. Lying, bastards of idiots.

"Sound specializes in secret-ops. You have the makings of being the best. Isn't that why you took it? To prove to everyone else that a …" she deepens her voice in a poor imitation of the Council Chair, "13-year old kid has more balls than jounin."

"It's now officially A-class too."

"I don't suppose I have a real choice," he says, looking straight ahead.

It's in her eyes, and he looks at the trees, the water, anywhere but at her. He knows he should refuse, that the smarter idea will be to walk away from this, take some mission and get out, but the red eyes are whirling around him already, and he knows that he is so close to digging it out. It wasn't every day the council sent a personal representative to coerce its genin into a job.

* * *

The room is empty, and he drops off his things, ignoring the background music of Chinatsu. 

"_Oooohhhh__Fishface_._There's a message for you_." Oh, lovely. The sing-song voice.

She throws it at his head, and he catches it.

"Thanks."

But she is looking over his shoulder, and he raises an eyebrow.

"You've already read it, why bother looking at it again."

"I wanted to see your reaction." She says sweetly.

"Chipper with a side of daises." He says. "Don't you have to practice? If you're desperate enough to track down Azami-san, I don't understand why you'd waste your time spying on my life."

She didn't flinch, and instead throws back her head to laugh.

"Go to hell." She says bluntly, before skipping out.

I just might. He figures, before deciding he'd be lucky if he ever reached hell.

* * *

**A/N:** Lyrics from Interpol. Responses via livejournal.

Can you tell who my favorite character is? Nah, you're right. It is too obvious.


	6. II: 3

**Chapter 3:**

**I. Accidental Mistakes**

**_I wish I could buy back,  
the woman you stole_**

* * *

The new class of students sniffle while filing in for breakfast. Their awe is painfully obvious as they find benches, and tuck their long hair behind their faces, chubby hands reaching for bowls. Their uniforms still in mint condition. Shiro was brought in from the outside, and has never seen the nursery, but he remembers walking into the dining hall, and staring back at all the eyes. 

"Mmm, mmm, mm. Young'ins. Fresh and tender." Chinatsu says, licking her lips.

Isamu and Shiro continue to eat. Neither looking at the other.

"Oh, Isamu, remember when we came in? The nursery was never as big."

He nods, and Shiro continues to chew.

"What would you know," she throws it out casually, "You were a year late, and if I remember correctly. It took you a day to get in a fight, and months before they let you join your age group."

He shrugs.

"I left when I was four, I didn't realize that in a hidden village miles away, they started school at three."

"True. Poor little fishing villages." She wipes her eyes. He sips his miso, and doesn't even need to look at her to know she is about to stand up.

"You should sit down, Chinatsu. You're embarrassing yourself."

She ignores him, motioning for him to move his head so she could get a better view.

"I hear Suigetsu's little girl is in this batch." She finally admits.

"Why are you so intent on knowing parentage?" Shiro says, feeling Isamu's leg kick his beneath the table. "You never knew yours, so why be so obsessed with theirs?"

There is a second of hesitation, as she looks at him in disgust, before snarling and slamming her bowl down. Hard enough to crack it in two. Then, she storms out, mouthing off, and scaring everyone who didn't already know the girl was _insane._

'Why must you two always be so dramatic?' Isamu signed, before massaging the bridge of his nose.

"Shinobi lives are dramatic by definition." He answers stiffly.

* * *

The rain is deafening. Shiro reads his papers, reclining against the tall Cyprus bark, the branches creating a curtain of rain with just enough space to keep him relatively dry. Chinatsu was gone after the breakfast scene, and off went Isamu to look for her, throwing him the _you're-responsible, asshole_ look before he went.

Shiro continues to read.

_But after numerous failed experiments, it was decided that the three-genin cell was the most versatile approach. Some argued vehemently, even suggesting the removal of the traditional teacher unit, and instead opted for the creation of a fleet of temporary teachers. This removal would increase team cooperation and foster interdependence. In addition, it would also decrease rivalries that may be created via the selective eyes of the teacher whose – _

Failed experiments. Three-men cells. Sound was norotorious. Hadn't Uchiha-sama said, _all shinobi are orphans, why pretend to be otherwise…_

The air is thick and burning. He gags on the taste of raw, vicious chakra.

He stuffs the papers in his pockets, instantly on his feet. Rain muffles unintentional sounds, and disrupts normal scents. He props his katana.

A sharp movement to the left, and Shiro barely dodges a quick upper strike intended to smash his jaw. He leaps upward, but his opponent has already grabbed his leg and swings his body into the trunk, head-first.

It hurts, but only enough to break his hold on the sword. A streak of green, and Shiro knows who it is. Here to finally collect her due. He grabs onto the trunk, and reverses his momentum, knocking her into the branch, where moments before he had been quietly reading.

He hears the sickening crunch of ribs, but she ignores it, delivering a roundhouse kick to his kidneys. He dodges it, and all the gloved punches that follow. She has even worn her spiked knuckle guards, just for spite.

Bitch.

All he needs is just a crack, and then he can use water jutsus and listen to the symphony of every bone in her body fracturing.

But her offense is formidable, and he has barely slept in the last three days. Which makes him sloppy. Which might cost him his life today. He leaps down towards the wetlands, landing on the water top.

She laughs, before diving down and landing perfectly. Apparently bloodlust sharpened her poor chakra control. It also made her fierce. Her black cropped pants and loose blue shirt cling to her body, and her hair is matted down. She is downright maniacal, and he is glad. Better to have her in this form, then be stuck pretending to be sane. Make sense.

Her eyes are drawn, and he manages to dodge just before she pulled out both of her daggers from the air. He continues to duck, as she lunges forward causing shockwaves in the rain to hit his skin like needles.

Her hands are quick in forming seals, and Shiro leaps backward, just as the sky erupts in furious lightening, charring whatever he had stood on.

New tricks, he almost asks.

She answers by hurling fire.

He leaps back, running up a tree, and spirals downwards, using force to knock her into the water. The rain runs into his eyes, and he pulls out kunai from his pockets, throwing them with precision, and watching as she claws out of the water, outrunning each one. But it gives him time.

He forms the ox, tiger, and rat signs, thanking the weather for raining hard enough to blow out a proper dragon.

She is caught in the uproar, as the dragon opens its jaws and slams her through two thick trees. Then it wraps around her and squeezes. He listens as her heart nearly gives out from the chakra she uses to keep her body from being flattened. The dragon dissipates, and her body slumps forward, unconscious into the murky water around her.

His breathing is heavy as he gently walks towards the body, a little saddened that she never quite managed to kill him off. He sighs, thinking of how Isamu will be difficult now, but freedom is close, and the taste of copper hangs on his tongue. He frowns.

Reaching towards her, he kneels while cautiously stroking her hair, before tiling her chin up to see her face.

"Chinatsu with no last name." He says.

Then her eyes are open, and Shiro finds himself with both hands pressed flat against some tree, her knee dangerously wedged between his legs, while her other hand holds the dagger and pushes it against his throat. Hard.

"Move and I will kill you." She hisses.

He looks right through.

"What do you know. You and your sly little comments. Always thinking we're. So. Silly." She laughs, and he can almost taste her mouth. Count every hair on her face.

"You gave them up. Walked away from your parents. Your _home_."

The dagger is gilded, laced with designs of flowers and suns, and he tries to focus on it, instead of the black spots blooming in his periphery.

"I visited her once. Your little sister."

He swallows hard, can hear his muscles tightening.

"You never looked back, did you? Ha. _Ha. _Sound is such a _mish mash_ of outcasts. So what would you know about me? About anybody. Tell me, Kimmuro Shiro. _What do you know?_"

She is screaming, the rain rushing down, crying tears for both of them. He takes both legs and kicks her torso hard enough to make her heart skip a beat. She collapses, as he spirals backwards.

Landing on something too soft to be anything but flesh. He looks down, and swears. Kneeling, he turns the body over to see that it was a sentry. The face has been ripped apart, and judging from the red waters, still slightly warm, he guesses less than an hour.

He hears her body reeling forward, and he twists her off, using his own gloveless hands to stop the daggers.

"Chinatsu," he says, "We need to go back."

She stops, midway through, her brows furrowing and then she looks down.

He scans the area, searching for breathing, heartbeats, anything.

"Ten minutes, maybe more."

She grins her teeth and snarls, but an arm is clutched against her chest, and he can hear the lack of adrenaline. She won't stand another five minutes before shock, he guesses.

He hears a whistling, and looks to the right. The spear was actually first made for throwing, and he remembers this fact as it comes whirling down. Then Chinatsu is on top of him, and pulling him into the water below. He kicks upwards, holding his breath. He has her hair in a loose grip.

He breaks the surface, and pulls her face out of the water. Her breathing is shallow, a lonely slither against his skin.

And in this, their most excellent of moments, finally Isamu comes in, slamming down his staff. Shiro almost laughs from the sheer ridiculousness.

"Oh, now? You are such a _God_ of timing," Shiro says, just as the first volley of arrows descend.

* * *

The rain is loosening, but the trees are slick, and Shiro takes extra care as he runs from limb to limb, as Isamu provides all the coverage he can. Four down and too many left. In the end, they split up. He would go back to safety, taking one dying teammate along, while Isamu did his thing.

At least thirteen men, he guestimates. With many more, faces covered but no forehead protectors. Mercenaries.

She is propped on his back, and he constantly readjusts to her lanky frame on his. Her pupils are dilated from the concussion or contusion, but she has enough Chinatsu inside to rasp out.

"Cowards."

"Stop. Talking," he tells her. And he runs, pushing himself a little bit faster.

By the time they reach the city's edge, the rain is done, and he runs towards the Otokage office, throwing open the doors, and storming in wet and soggy, a teammate still mumbling about death on his back.

"Where is the Otokage?" He says.

Blank eyes stare back at him, and he swears he is going to kill every last one of them if they don't start moving.

"I said. _Where is Uchiha-sama?"_ His voice is sore, and he realizes he is almost screaming.

"You called?"

Uchiha-sama appears behind some doors, and Shiro might believe in God after all.

"Sir. We were training, and we found Mori the sentry dead. Judging from his body, I estimate at least one platoon of mercenaries. Isamu is back there, giving us cover."

"You led them here?" He asks.

"Sir, my teammate is dying."

Uchiha raises an eyebrow, before opening a scroll, and biting his thumb. Snakes appear all around, and Shiro unloads Chinatsu onto a desk, after shoving off the paperwork.

"Sound the bell," he tells the summons. "Every chuunin or higher should head towards the outer gates. Tell Suigetsu I need him immediately, and tell everyone else to follow Karin towards the North base."

Shiro notes that his eyes are spinning.

"Sir, yes sir.

Then he was gone.

A healer has already arrived, and her glowed as they moved along healing all of his damage. He takes one last look at her, before running out the doors.

* * *

Karin is already in the commons, counting heads and herding them towards the boats.

"All genin above the age of 12 should report to the nursery now." She snaps, and gives them specific directions to be careful.

She drives the rest of them out, and takes the time to soothe any criers. Another group is sent out to double-check every house, and deliver any refugees to the boats.

Suigetsu is at the gates, commanding his own arsenal of ANBU. The mercenaries are skilled, and she finds herself hoping that everyone will get to safety. Just this once.

Shiro runs past her, covered in blood, rushing towards the South gate. Isamu runs after him, katar in one hand, staff in the other.

* * *

Suigetsu sees them before they stop, panting and both wielding arms. The rest of his ANBU have been shipped off to the corners, and the chuunin were sent to oversee the village.

"Well now, if it isn't the trouble-makers."

He guesses Shiro is the black-haired boy, his hair discheveled for once. The brown boy must have been Isamu – he was the exact image of his mother, only darker.

"Isamu-chan, go help with the ferries, estimate supplies, or at least make sure we have some." The boy bows, his eyes glaring, but in compliance. Shiro shifts his feet, as his teammate sets off.

"You're coming with me and Sasuke." He leaps up, and Shiro follows.

The village gates come up before them, and Uchiha-sama has already taken out both daisho.

"You're late." He says, and then lunges forward, slashing at the enemy nin.

* * *

He has been on month long missions, suffered through bouts of insomnia, walked from ocean to ocean, but Shiro has never felt this tired. Every movement burns until there is no more feeling, and he stops relying on his senses, focusing only on the best offense, or worst, the best defense.

Rest is coming soon, as most of the attackers were lying still strewn across the marshes, and his adrenaline has already spiked. He is burning away slowly, but he knows he'll see them in hell first.

There are only a few left, and as he slices through another neck, not even bothering to shield his face from the resulting spray, he has already turned, forcing his blade into the stomach of another.

"Stop." He hears, and complies, resheathing his katana and whirling around.

Suigetsu limps forward, the samahada resting lightly along his back.

"He's the last one."

Shiro pushes him into the water, holding his face under water until the heart beat sped up. Then he pulls the hair back, hating the slick feel of blood soaking everywhere in the damn marsh.

The nin blubbered, too stupid to know how not to not cry out.

"No –please. _There's_ _been a mistak-" _

"Tell whoever sent you here, that Sound does not appreciate unwelcome guests." He throws him to Suigetsu, who sets him roughly on some piece of bark and kicks it out towards the horizon.

"Not bad," he tells him.

Shiro nods, and stretches out his arm, clenching his teeth when his bones grind together.

"Why did you send away my teammate?"

Suigetsu laughs before grinning, as if to ask, _now?_

"I knew his mother," Suigetsu says quietly. "And Ishiyo will eviscerate me in hell if she finds out I put her son in danger."

"But I was expendable?" He asks, washing his hands in the water, only for the ceremony, as the water was still seasoned with nins.

"You were responsible." He says, but Shiro can only sigh, lightly as most of his ribs have been cracked.

* * *

Uchiha-sama is inside the village, surveying the tops of the buildings. One eye is swollen shut, and his body is red, both from himself and others. There is a long burn along his back, and his left hand has been broken.

Shiro watches him, as he throws the gasoline away. He tentatively sniffs his own hands before putting them down.

"Section four, cleared."

It is finished, he thinks. The three of them have double-checked each house and home, and the place is clean, and will burn nicely despite the wetness.

"Well, boss. It's pretty fortunate. The rain will muddy whatever tracks we make." Suigetsu says, kicking his canisters into a pile. "So we're done."

Uchiha-sama nods.

"It'll rain again in a few days, and by then, we'll be at the North base."

Both men share a look, before turning towards the city. From the gates, it seems an empty town, no life save that of ghosts.

Uchiha-sama motions for them to back away, and leaps onto the gate, his sandals making no sound. From the back, Shiro can only guess at arm movements, and then watch as the man blew fire. The legendary fireball technique, and the only one who can perform it in front of him.

It spreads quickly, ignoring the wetness, guzzling away at the inner structures, and wooden beams. The flames spread out to the damp surrounding fauna.

All Sound children are taught to carry any important belongings on their persons at all time. In case of a quick escape. Shiro has no personal possessions except his sword, and the contents of the file, firmly tucked away inside the lining of his vest. He slicks a hand through his hair, watching the last true Hidden Village burn.

Suigetsu taps his shoulder, and Shiro follows both men as they walk towards a skiff, hidden away beneath the reeds.

He lies down almost immediately.

"Three hours with civilians. A new record."

"Ah."

But by then, he is fast asleep, too tired to dream.

* * *

A/N: Lyrics by the Yeah Yeah Yeahs. Oh, Isamu. You silly thing you. 


	7. II: 4

Chapter 4:

Chapter 4:

IV. The King of Sound

_Well, you can't be a pimp and a prostitute too. _

.

.

.

He finds Isamu in front of New Sound's Common House, dusting off his white pants, emptying sand from his sandals. Prison bars are at his side, bent sideways, or ripped straight from the holes. His dark skin has been dusted with a heavy white.

"Construction work?" He says, whistling low.

Isamu makes a low guttural noise.

'_And what have you been doing?'_

"Being unconscious."

'_Lucky_.' He wipes off his forehead. Shiro spots the Sound insignias wrapped around both hands.

'_So are you going to help out, or stand outside?_' Isamu rolls his eyes, directing his thumb behind him, where grunts could be heard.

He shrugs, before following his teammate. The hospital tent is too quiet, and the nurses will never find him inside.

Half an hour goes by, before a small tapping sound comes from the window. He watches as the bird flutters a bit, before he lifts the pane, and undoes the string around its leg. It nips him sharply on the hard, before soaring off.

He unravels the small scrap of paper, before crinkling it and turning it to ashes.

'What was that?' asks Isamu.

"I've been summoned." Then he teleports.

* * *

Uchiha-sama is on the bridge, construction plans in front of him, looking too serious. Shiro wishes he could just go, leave while he can still limp. Leaning against the table, Suigetsu gives a little wave, before going back to sucking down his water bottle.

"Well, if it isn't hero-boy. Still alive I see."

Shiro taps one of the crutches against the ground. Waiting is not his favorite thing, and he fights his insticts to shift, or hide.

"So this is it." He says.

Suigetsu laughs.

"Yea, I forget you kids have never been here. All white sandstone and marble. It's pretty in the sunset, if you ignore the blood on the walls."

He leans back, smiling.

"Yea, it's been a while since I've been here. Last time… must have been when we were still searching for Itachi." He rolls his eyes.

Uchiha-sama straightens his back, interrupting him.

"Must you always scare the kids?" He says, before turning to face Shiro.

"Sir, if this is about the attack on the village, I am prepared to accept whatever punishment I am to receive." He bows, and hopes that his neck isn't too exposed.

"_Punishment_?" The amusement in his voice doesn't extend past his eyes. "I've decided, Team 4 is going to the Chuunin trials."

He wishes self-immolation can be done on command. Uchiha-sama returns to the plans, untucking the pencil from behind his ear.

"Yep, hero-boy. Seems you did the right thing, bringing your teammate back, leading enemy nin into our camp, causing us to move yet again…" Suigetsu lists it off on his fingers.

"We're efficient." Shiro says, before bowing again and thanking them for such an opportunity, and walking off.

"Kids these days. Too soft."

"Would you rather they grew up like you?" Sasuke says, without looking up.

"Living experiments? Killing before walking? God, I miss the old days," Suigetsu sighs. Then sips.

* * *

He stops in front of both tents, as a record plays on and on. _She saved your life. She saved your life._

Both have red crosses stitched onto the side, both are white and billow under the scorching sun. His lips are dry, and he thinks, maybe Chinatsu will finally shut up about the rain. From the plans on the table, Shiro gathered that there's only two lakes, one that empties out into the river before joining the ocean – _his_ ocean, the one that he grew up in. Ironic, how the North base was closer to his old house.

Covering his eyes, he opens the flap before he hears the voice.

"Oy. Fishhead, We're over here." Her vocal chords haven't been damaged, and he can't help but pity himself a little bit more. But the tent is open, and Shiro turns around quickly, but not before a dozen girly coquettish screams force him to shut it with force.

"Thanks." He says, and then smiling. "You look like a mummy."

"Least I can walk, and be in the right wing of the hospital tents." She says, giving him both fingers.

Isamu puts her arms down, shaking his head.

'What did Uchiha-sama say?'

"We're going to the Chuunin trials…I.." He wants to ask her that stupid question, the one circling around him endlessly, that drove him out of the tents this morning. But she is jumping up and down, hugging Isamu, while ignoring the body cast. Shiro taps his fingers against his forehead, deciding curiosity be damned. It probably didn't mean anything anyways.

* * *

Chinatsu suggests hunting down each jounin teacher and learning as many jutsus as possible. Shiro shakes his head. At this point, it was about perfecting what they have learned, not cramming.

"Besides, after last week. I doubt if any teachers will even practice with us now."

He has a point. Isamu continues to shave the stubble from his head, before nodding.

* * *

Technically on sick leave, he ignores medical advice, and hobbles around, helping reconstruction. Mindless labor gave him an excuse to appear busy. At night, he is so numb, he can only climb into bed and sleep.

Conversations keep swirling around.

He helped Karin organize documents and passports, asking questions whenever he could.

She'd stamp one, and lick her fingers, picking up another page, before answering "It happened when he was eight, and I hear he was never the same."

Or.

"Sound was always his _true_ home."

Uchiha-sama standing above the burning wreckage, his village safe for a little while longer.

Suigetsu laughing about the good old missions.

The man is impossible to unnerve. He is pragmatic, smart, and sly. He can easily seduce women and men – not that he liked diplomatic work much. But with his leadership, Sound began to gain respect, and became a real village, known for something quick, efficient, and quiet. If Sound kept records of its missions, no one knew about it.

Direct spying at this point is useless. All actions without connective tissue. The man is so logical, that it doesn't make sense.

Fact: Uchiha-sama never killed unless he needed to, a distinctly leaf-nin trait. Every morning, Uchiha-sama practiced on the hill, personally training the Sound ANBU. After the death of his brother, Uchiha-sama returned for years. Then defected, again. A cold-blooded vicious killer, with a conscience.

Fact: Eight is an impressionable age. Adding in psychological damage, and an Oedipus complex. It'd make sense.

Fact: A second-hand prince is never worth the crown. Sound meant something new, a challenge.

Fact: His teammates –

He lets the thought go. All of it swirling inside, and he is at the center. He needs a motive, a direct clause.

Everything makes sense up until Konoha.. It's hidden in the puzzle, and he only has to reach. He needs to know why he left again.

* * *

He doesn't take morning walks. Shiro sits down on the top of the stones, careful to hide in the darkness. He wipes off his hands and feet, hiding the smell of sweat.

Uchiha-sama doesn't amble. He strides with precision. Every step is planned out in advance. He stops to stoop down and gently feels the sand beneath his palms. Lets the sand sift through his fingers, before flinging it back down.

Shiro gets it, and voluntarily walks forward, announcing his presence.

"I didn't know genin practiced this early." Uchiha-sama says, without looking. He is unsheathing his katana, and the sound ricochets off the sandstone walls.

"Sir. I am to represent Sound." Shiro says, and waits for a reaction. Uchiha-sama doesn't even flinch, and instead moves his left foot, and takes the first stance. Shiro has read about it, seen it done a million times, but this may as well be the first.

"You didn't think of that, while attacking your teammate." He begins his routine.

"There wasn't much time for thinking. Sir."

He looks at him, and for once he feels three years old, caught in a lie, his sister clutching his side. Why lie when he has lies that can see straight through.

"There are no excuses for attacking a teammate. They are lower than trash."

Right foot. Cut straight down.

Sound was honest and realistic about loyalty, really. Other nins spouted off about eternal bonds. Sound understood the pragmatism, the whatever-has-to-be-done.

The realization is painful. The nin. The sentry. His sudden appearance. The sudden stroke of fortune.

He almost says, before his mind kicks in, and tells him to shut up._ No, it's a mistake… _

Uchiha Sasuke. Otokage. The one who ordered the attack.

Uchiha-sama doesn't stop or pause, only his lips stretch out a little less thinly then before.

The first wave of Sound ANBU start appearing, their masks glaring in the sun. Shiro walks backwards, refusing to turn his back on this sight. Men in blue all in tune, doing some choreographed deadly dance.

When Chinatsu sees him, she has to say.

"And why are you so fucking pale today?"

* * *

A/N: Suigetsu would be an awesome pimp. Lyrics by White Stripes.

Also, I know. I've been gone. Here are my excuses, my laptop broke, and I was busy doing school. There.


	8. II: 5

Chapter 5

Chapter 5

VI. Collision

_I don't want to die living in a high rise grave  
My baby come home  
_

_same black day, high rise grave_

.

.

.

The silk is soft but suffocating, especially the hakama trousers which are too large. It feels like drowning, by heat. Silk. His teammates.

"You look like a duck." Haruka had said, before turning around and catching up to her team. She isn't the only one upset yesterday, at their appearance in the village edge.

He would've retorted, but he has never seen Konoha before, and he is too busy being mesmerized. The large walls curve before swaying into the mountain, where seven large heads jut out against the afternoon sun.

He watches her team as they bicker over theories. Chinatsu is quiet for once, and Isamu stands behind her, their shadows lost in the forest green.

Tightening the hold on his katana, he hopes they will be allowed to change out of the sound kimonos. Soon. Chinatsu has already given up, and ripped two large slits running up her thighs.

"Your girlfriend called you a duck." She says, watching the doors fling open.

"She's mad that we're here. And. She's not my girlfriend. "

"You're the King of Obvious. You know that, right?"

The guards are dressed in green, and from the shock on their faces, they know the symbol. Even the air here is different.

He nods and bows politely, before following one of the guards, and his giant dog.

* * *

After weeks of dessert rocks, Konoha is an oasis. The green foliage around them is mesmerizing, and Shiro remembers swimming beneath the ocean, diving deeply and feeling immersed. The streets here – real streets with pavement and sidewalks – are dreamlike. He hasn't seen some in years.

Tall buildings, and neat poppies in flowerboxes. Cats and grass that blows beneath the breeze. The sun catches across the tallest building, and he knows that the Hokage resides inside. The Hokage that his Otokage used to know.

Azami-san and Karin are there, leading the way, preparing the rooms, and double-checking every team. He has seen their expressions, and knows that for tonight, rules are rules and that _severe consequences_ sounds unpleasant. Lights out by eleven, separate rooms for boys and girls. He wouldn't be worried, if their team hadn't spent weeks in the infirmary, saving their village. Technically.

Chinatsu is still smoldering, loudly venting.

"What a fucking prude." She says, flopping down on his bed. He ignores her, and instead drops his bags, and begins to organize.

"Still, it's pretty." She murmurs, voice so low, he can barely hear it. By the time he looks up, she's already gone.

* * *

It begins at eight, but Sound wakes up with the sun, and the first three hours are the most frustrating hours of his life. He cannot risk walking around, and so he sits down until he hears Karin's steps outside.

It takes forty seconds to put on his sandals, and wake Isamu up. They are the first ones outside, and wait for the rest. Adults have already gathered, and began to distribute breakfast and information. A girl with bright pink hair doles out identification.

"Please keep it within easy reach, and remember to keep your forehead protector on at all times." She says, smiling politely. He knows he has seen her before. It comes to him in pieces.

"Haruno…san" He asks, reaching for the papers. She shakes her head, a bit surprised. Wide green eyes in shock.

"I'm sorry, that's my mother. People say we look a lot alike." She stands a little straighter. "Uzumaki. Kanon."

Oh.

"See you on the battlefield." She said, and walked off without looking back.

_Oh._

* * *

It wasn't until the Forest of Death that he saw Uchiha-sama. Isamu was inside, his arm being stitched up because of some idiot with the bright blue hair. Shiro stands outside, nearly missing a dark swish of silk, a musical note now marked on his back. He is not the tallest, but even from a hundred meters away, Shiro stands up straight and watches.

The Otokage walks towards the surrounding jounin, and Shiro has never seen a crowd disperse so quickly.

A tap on the shoulder. It is Isamu, now with a functional bandage of an arm.

'The medic is amazing.' He signs.

Shiro can't help but laugh.

* * *

The rooms aren't small, just fucking annoying. She's been put with Haruka, miss-I'm-the-perect-spy-cause-I-don't' have-a-scent-or-prints. Whatever. Chinatsu scrubs the rest of the blood off. Their team was _almost first_, and this infuriates her almost as much as the punkass with the blue hair who left Isamu a little going-away present. She clenches her teeth, and looks in the mirror.

The color hasn't faded, though the red chunks gave it a spectacularly raw feel. She considers dying it a couple of shades next time, after this whole ordeal is over.

Her roommate is already cleaned and scrubbed, probably _planning_. Wha-

She closes her eyes. When was the last time she felt this anxious, and moody?

"Not since Water." She says so softly even Shiro couldn't hear it. Damned habit of saying shit out loud. Sound had a policy of throwing you to the wolves. Their first mission was to track six wanted criminals on the edge of Water country. They were known for brutality, child molesting, rape, but not killing. Since they were children, they might as well use it to their advantage. Sound was being fucking merciful.

Fucking bastards, the lot of them. Shiro practically worshipped all of them, but she knows the currents beneath the waves.

A knock on the door, and someone wanted in. She takes one last look in the mirror, makes a face, and flings the door open.

* * *

Only two teams from Sound make it to the battlefield, and to her surprise, she's going first. In the past week, she has trampled through the woods, beaten one of the Sound genin – she never liked him anyways – and nearly died twice. So this is her reward.

To be the first of the soundnins to showcase. She's been paired up with some Uza-something, but it doesn't matter. Her fingers are laced into her spiked gloves, and she has declined all offers of a sword. Wuss. She's packed her sabers, but prefers hand-to-hand, the only real way of fighting. She is undefeated in taijustsu, and now is the time to show off.

When Sound genin become Chuunin, there is a glow on them when they walk back to the camps. Everyone can tell who the newly anointed are. It doesn't matter really, because the shinobi in Sound have to grow up faster – stronger – then any other country's. The accounts prove that. But now they've been recognized, and that's worth more than any medal she can think of. Or any of her completed B-class missions.

It will be the look on Suigetsu's face, or even better. Shiro's. It'll be payback for their first meeting, when he sliced her shoulder open. Though, technically, she did kick him in the kidney's first. But the _principle_s.

"Need anything?" One of the leafnins ask. Chinatsu stare into the long blond hair, perfectly pinned in a bun – her own hair, tousled into something fierce – and cocks her head, showing off all her teeth.

"No."

_I'm ready._

* * *

A/N: Lyrics by Metric.

Is she really?

numberoneklutz - your review was the one that made me want to update this story again. I'm glad you liked Shiro. Also, you only have to wait for another chapter or so? the ending has plenty of naru/sasu/saku action.


	9. II: 6

**Chapter 6**

**VII. O, Fortuna**

**_Armless children,  
We named our soldiers after you_**

.

.

.

* * *

It is the fire incidentally, that starts it.

He and Isamu are relegated to the back. His teammate is doing his best to not worry, but the tension is there on his face, the icy white knuckles, the clenching of his broad shoulders, dusky brown simmering in the Konoha green.

Chinatsu will be fine, he wants to say. But she may not. He has studied her vociferous attack style, and there are glaring weaknesses just exposed as the sheer strength and speed is almost unmatchable.

That, and she had been smiling just before entering the arena. The same smile she wore when she knew a secret, and wouldn't give it up. He looks down at the score sheet. They were the only full team aside that team from Sand, and this has undoubtedly pissed off Haruka to no end. He can see her stewing at the bottom. She was the only one from her team who made it, and she had been matched up against Uzumaki-san.

He takes another look. There are two of them.

Uzumaki, Kanon.

And, _Uzumaki Kazuki. _

* * *

The sky is blue. The earth is round. Sound is unmatched in fury. She thinks of this, as she enters the field, a buzzing in her ear. Tunnel-vision, pure red. Nothing but you and him and the ass-kicking of the century.

Her chest still hurts, but the medics here are really something, and she feels confident that she has a good chance. Better then good. Great. Fucking absolutely. She touches her Sound protector, and stretches obnoxiously, allowing her long limbs to stretch to inhumanly angles. And the smile that launched a hundred uneasies.

And waits. There is a hold-up. Something in the announcer's voice, and she takes the time to look up at the crowd, where she can't spot either of her teammates. Isamu was probably there, worrying his brown ass off for nothing, and Shiro. Fuck him.

So she leans against the walls, and waits.

* * *

'What's the hold up?' signs Isamu, and Shiro can actually hear his teeth grind.

He shrugs his shoulders, before walking towards the official's box, where he just spotted pink. Isamu follows, his staff hitting the ground on every step.

The girl is there, looking serene, even though it is her brother who is late. She doesn't even turn to face them.

"I'm sorry for the delay. My brother… Kazuki has never liked to be on time." If there is a hint of aggression or years, it is not in her voice, or her soft delicate hands. He's seen them in action, but they seem so deceptively soft. He remembers her mother's hands as they saved his life – a couple of times.

"Is the Hokage angry?" He doesn't know where his _Otokage_ is, until he sees the two colors sitting in the balcony seats, flanked by the others.

"My father is probably swearing right now." She sighs, and looks straight into him.

"Shiro of Sound, right? You asked about my mother." She says, smiling at Isamu, who awkwardly waves back. Her collected attitude makes him edgy.

"Yes, and it seems you've already won your match. Do you think you'll be promoted?" Shiro asks, watching one hat bobble angrily up and down, before looking down at the stadium, where a head of green lolled back and forth.

"…The Mist-nin was very good."

"You'll be fine." A voice from the back. Lean and tempered, in a vest with black bandages wrapped around his wrists and all down his legs. "The other guy was stronger, but you were smarter. That and tou-san would have passed you even if you had died."

"Ni-san, don't be like that. He will pass you this time. For sure."

His eyes were a matted blue, matching his hair, and even Shiro couldn't tell if his sharp inky blue hair was natural.

Isamu stiffins, and snarls.

"You were the one who got to the scroll first." Shiro says. "Uzumaki Kazuki."

The teenager raises an eyebrow and gives a quick glare, before turning to his sister, whose eyes had crinkled and brow began to knit. He opens his mouth for a minute, and looks at the stage of the Kage's.

"You should be down there, already, ni-san." She cannot look into his face, and instead focuses her eyes on the spectators. Shiro refuses to feel guilty, and stares back.

Kazuki is silent for a long time, before grinning, or was it grimacing.

"They say third times' the charm."

Then he leapt down the stadium, and landed on both feet. A sound began in the crowd, first a low hush that grew until there was a roar from all of Konoha. All hail the prince, he thinks.

* * *

He goes first, and there is a feral abandoned feeling when he rushes head-on to meet her. She rolls out of the way, just before his feet decimate the place her head was standing. Leaf was full of surprises.

So she crouches down and kicks her legs, she isn't surprised to hear a crack. However, she is surprised to see that he has blocked it with his arm, and so back flips until she is out of range of his shuriken.

She alternates from hand to hand balancing her weight on a finger, a wrist, both palms, whatever she can contact the ground with. His aim is good, but her speed is better. If she drags this out, he'll begin to have the advantage. His stanch, his sinewy arms. His endurance could be better, and she doesn't have the pleasure of testing his limits.

He runs towards her, his arm full of kunai – fucking leaf didn't give weapons to their kiddies til too late – and she has to twist vehemently, enough to hear something snap, in order to dodge. A few snippets of green flutter to the ground.

"So Leaf does have balls." She smiles, spits out a tooth

In Sound, the first thing you learn is to attack to kill. Wounding was an art. She was four years old when she killed her first man, and held a knife to her throat, in case Suigetsu wouldn't _back. The. Fuck. Off._ This is a real fight, and she isn't in the mood to play.

So she pulls out a dagger from her sandals, holding one in her mouth as she leaps towards him.

* * *

This fight is different. It's sketched on Isamu's frowning face, and even in Kanon's raised eyebrow. Shiro knows it too. There is nothing in this fight to suggest fair-ness, or even an exhibition.

'He's trying to kill her.' Isamu signs, and exhales.

"What did he say?" She asks. Three feet and two countries separated them.

"Your brother should have been promoted years ago." Shiro replies, and takes another look at the battlefield, where Chinatsu is still dodging in tune to his endless attacks.

"He's not usually like this." She says, and her voice might as well be a hundred and five. "He's good, but kind. It's just been hard for him. Konoha… doesn't treat outsiders well."

"Wasn't he born here?" He asks, bluntly with a side of sarcastic. She shakes her head.

"So the Sound-nin has to ask. You of all people should know. Outsiders are everywhere. Some are born. Some are made."

He looks down at the field.

* * *

She is breathing hard, and there must be a puncture, because she can feel something sloshing inside her chest. He is bearing down at her, and she can't believe she might _lose_ to this punk. She delivers a solid left punch, the shock loosening his contacts, but he just turns around, and _shakes it off_.

A sharp kick to the left, and she falls to the ground, before making the signs, and hurling flames.

If you're going to go, at least go out with a bang.

* * *

Incidentally it is the fire that ended it.

Shiro can't stop his expression as he sees her down at the ground, pulling out her firsts of fire. She's used it twice to his knowledge. Once to beat him, and once on their first mission. She doesn't feel threatened, and she doesn't care to show off – doesn't need to.

She is on her feet again, and he knows she's slower. The crowd is deafening, and he can't pinpoint her own heartbeat. She delivers a round kick that knocks him into the ground, but he is already up, and wiping away the blood, before creating clones and surrounding her. So far, Shiro has counted six to eight jutsus – none of them that could give away his chakra type. She's going into this blind.

He sighs. One of her daggers is flung, and does a back flip, catching one of them in the jaw, dispersing him. But by then, he's gone.

There is a hush.

She looks to the left. To the right. And tries to leap, but it's too late, as he had launched himself into the air, and swoops down on her. The crunch echoes in the arena.

Get up. Get. Up. Isamu's hands crack the railing.

She does, and it may be the most excruciating thing he has ever seen. The referees are ready to call it a draw, but she'd die before she declares a tie. She flexes her hands, and the blue punk freezes. The wires glare in the sunlight. She smiles, but so does he.

His hands, cut and bleeding, move slowly, and are brought to his lips. Even before he does it, Shiro knows. The boy manages to leap back before blowing a steady fireball. _Fireball no jutsu_, the same one that set fire to the Sound village, only that came from a different set of lips.

Shiro looks down, and his eyes can decipher three spinning tamoe in those eyes.

Contacts starting as a child. Shitty dye jobs. The rage. Oh. God. If it's not obvious enough.

He doesn't bother looking at Isamu, instead looking at the Otokage who has stood up. Shiro catches his eyes, and then reaches for his teammate's staff, leaping down into the stadium.

Spinning the staff, he lands in front of Chinatsu, and takes the brunt of the attack. The heat is so hot, the flame nearly blue, and still in just a split second, he swings the staff and aims for the head.

The boy crumples to the ground, singed paper in an arena reeking of blistered skin. By then, the officials have joined them.

* * *

A/N: Lyrics by The Strokes. Holy crap, it's almost done. Why did this take so long!?


	10. II: 7

**Chapter 7**

**VIII. Respectfully Yours**

**_The flashing at night, the sirens grow and grow  
Oh, history involved itself_**_  
_

.

.

.

* * *

She is dozing lightly when he comes in. Facing the bed, her back is to the window, and she refuses to turn around. The mound of paperwork is at her side, and she picks up her pen and resumes, completely ignoring him.

"Who taught him?" He says, and she wants to throw something at him. And she would, if she wasn't in her hospital, or the patient's mother, or married to the Hokage.

She laughs, and puts down her glasses, closing her eyes and turning around. She stands up, ignoring the damned papers for once, and finds herself barely at his shoulder level. This man once took her training, and protected her with arms that she once swore were big enough to span the horizons. These were the same hands that pulled down her dress straps, and held her like glass – the same ones that killed, and killed, and killed.

"I did. In case … you came back, and wondered." She looks at the sleeping body on the bed, hooked up to wires and tubes. "He always knew a little bit. It couldn't have been Naru- but he always kept it quiet." She doesn't add the fights at school, or the arguments. The difficulties of being two people at once.

"He can't stay." He says, his arms crossed, looking so achingly fierce. She can't answer, and instead, smoothes the sheets around this son, _their_ son, if only by biology.

"He can't stay." He repeats, a little more softly this time.

"I know. You're still in the Bingo books of half the villages." She bends down, and kisses the boy on the head, trying to remember every hair on top of his head. Inhaling the scent of ash from a long burned out fire. She gets up, and exhales until she feels empty.

"When he gets tired of whatever life you and Sound offer, let him come home to _me_. If not for us… for naruto, for old times' sake_.._." She says. 

He looks away. Turning, she walks towards the door, her back towards him.

"And as his mother, I will heap tenfold the punishment on whatever-_whoever_ dares to hurt him... That includes you." She inhales. "Thank you and good-bye Uchiha-san."

There is no reply, but she no longer expects it. He watches her close the door, her long fingers splayed against the wall. He notes that there are creases in her eyes from laughter, and wonders about the man who gave them to her. Who lay down beside her every night. Who would have given everything for them all, and did.

He steps closer to the bed, and holds the railing. The boy takes after his mother.

Pictures were in all the newspapers - _son_ _of the hokage -_ and he was always checking the bingo books, just in case. But those sepia-toned cutouts that he always made himself throw away. There are unescapable facts in his life. He has paid for their lives in the blood of the opposed. His family is gone, and for years he knew he would be the last to have red spinning eyes. Then, Sakura came back one day, her hands cringing, and he knew.

Once, he had purpose, been so sure of every step. One night, he felt something alive buried beneath Sakura's expanding body.

Then he stole eleven years at the cost of his teammates, and looking down at this _marvel_, he is not sorry.

* * *

Shiro wakes up, and the sky is the russet gold of sunset. Quickly pulling the tubes and IVs from his arms, he sniffs the bandages around both his hands and arms. No infection, and the smell of salve meant they were trying to prevent scarring. Leaf charity at its finest.

The guards are in front, but most of the ANBU will be out searching. Bits and pieces of information come to him.

Uchiha-sama waited until the blue punk was hospitalized before vanishing with his _son._ By now, the scandal must have spread.

He pulls himself out of the window, and onto the roof. No guards. He rolls his eyes, and decides to take the long way.

* * *

By the time he has reached it, he is bent over, trying to ignore the throbbing itch of his arms. The trees have thinned out, and now there is only him, the moon, and the two Uchihas. _Father, son, and holy spirit. _

Uchiha-sama doesn't seem surprised. There is a sheen of sweat, and his clothes are singed in many places. The Sound cloak is gone, and instead, there is the fan peeking out on the back. He is breathing heavily, standing still against the grass.

"How long before they come?" He asks.

"Fifteen minutes, max." He says.

By his feet, the boy is unconscious, still with his battle clothing on, shuriken in his hands. Someone has gently placed him on the side.

"Go back to your team, and to Sound."

The wind makes his own hospital gown too thin.

Already, there is a _thump thump_ of heartbeats coming.

"Sir." He says, quietly, and watches for a moment as his Otokage looks straight through him, and onto Konoha.

Then darkness.

* * *

He wakes up to find the cliff surrounded by ANBU. There is a bruise on his shoulder, and he stands up in front of them, and without pause rips off his bandages, letting them follow the wind. And when he marches back to Konoha, it is one painfully proud step after another.

* * *

This time they don't give him morphine, and he wakes up smeared in aloe vera, his arms already rebandaged, and all four limbs in shackles.

A man is lightly dozing in the corner, and even without the hat, his identity is obvious. He looks disheveled, heavy bags beneath his eyes. A menacing five o'clock shadow.

Shiro looks outside. Different view. New roof, and lots of guards.

"I wouldn't try it. They've been told to kill on sight." The man doesn't open his eyes, and after a bestial yawn, they open red and bloodshot.

"So Konoha has learned from its mistakes." He won't even pretend to have respect. Fifteen years is a long time to lie.

The man drags his chair next to the bed, making as much screechings as possible. The same robe of yesterday, slightly smelling of forest. Large chapped hands with nubby fingernails.

"How did you know where to find them?" The man asks.

"I once saw a picture of the place." He doesn't add that it was from a folder meant for '_reconnaissance.' _

"Not the complete truth, but I'll accept it." The man taps his thumbs together.

There is a staring contest, set within a long inverted silence. Neither blink, or move, until he leans back, inhales and exhales slowly.

"Look kid, I don't care who the hell you are. I don't care what problems you have with Konoha, or anything about Sound loyalty. Some things are _bigger_ than that. So that being said, _where is my son?"_

His voice begins low, and doesn't gain volume. Instead, it grows stronger. A heaviness creeps into his voice, and it fleshes out his face, draws his eyes together, until the man looks so certain, and fiercely collected that it's possible to imagine him carrying the kyuubi. Or destroying Akatsuki.

"Why do you think he left?" Shiro finally says, "the second time." And the Hokage furrows his brows, before laughing grimly.

"Seriously kid? I can give you all the excuses in the world. But t…" He drifts off, receding into his own memories. "Fear? Responsibility? Konoha's unforgiving hypocrisy? Maybe love. Yeah, heh, I'd like to believe the last one – _and I do_. But…One day, when you're old in this business, and you know the dead more than the living, you might understand. Your teammates are alive. Doing well. Maybe even happy." He gives a half smile. "It's enough."

His glare makes the boy sit up straighter, pay attention, because if he miscalculates, there will be hell. And he can imagine both kage's, in one team, tempered by Haruno-san. How powerful they must have been. A very long time ago.

"I really don't know." He says. "_Sir_."

* * *

They refuse to release him, even though he feels fine. His arms are lightly scarred, but the effect is worth it. He has been given walking privileges, and he decides to stroll around, in slippers and with his ass hanging out, on the fourth floor.

One door is cracked open, and he walks by slowly, stopping at the door. Isamu is on the chair, asleep so heavily, his head has fallen off the wall, and his mouth is hanging wide open.

She's still asleep, and her charts say she's had a few scares. They recommend another week, but tomorrow the sound genin are returning. Home.

He puts the chart down, and walks up two flights of stairs, until he is alone in his room.

* * *

Haruno-san is the one to release him. She hands him his clothing personally, and clinically watching him as he put it on. He can't blame her, but he can still fight.

He morphs into her face – not the one in front of him, but the one from years ago that had stood at his bed, offering him all of this. There are very minor differences, a slight line here, years over there.

"Kimmuro-san," she says, looking up, and she's won. Stony-faced and angry. He begins to think that if the circumstances were different, she might have been smiling.

"Fifteen years is a very long time." He throws out.

If he was anyone else, she would have refused, but instead, she scoffs, her hair perfectly pulled back, and takes off her glasses.

"I don't think I've ever thanked you," he finds the words hard to form.

"Now would be a very bad time to start." She says, before looking down again, and marking down some data from the machines.

He waves to her before she goes, and then leaps out the window, trying to avoid the judging faces. Azami-san is there, waiting.

"You ready to go home?" She asked.

"Oh. _Yes_." He answers.

* * *

A/N: Lyrics by Sufjan Stevens.

ALMOST. One more epilogue and it's finished.


	11. Epilogue

**IX. Homecoming (II)**

**_Take a look at me now  
I'll just be standing here  
And you coming back to me  
Is against the odds  
And that's a chance I've gotta face_**

.

.

* * *

.

They've taken a different route to Sound, but Shiro knows the rocky cliffs, and the lights above the ocean are burning their images into the tide. The island hasn't changed. He almost expects it to be ashes and dregs, ripped open gates and everything, but that's all psychological.

They haven't slept for a day, and he notices how some of them are sinking slowly into the waters. He almost skips to show them the benefits of insomnia.

Isamu is behind him, and from the silence, Chinatsu is still out from morphine. He catches his glaze, and Shiro breaks first. In a few leaps, he's caught up with Azami.

The woman is as resilant as she looks. The same steel expression cements her face, and her hair looks like large ball of purple-pink flame, even in the darkness of midnight moon. The tear-dropped tattoo on both cheeks twitch.

"What are you looking at?" She says. He shrugs.

"We should have been here three days ago."

"We have to keep to the open paths."

Her mouth remains aloof, but her eyes are furrowed, and he believes this is the truth.

The waves beneath him swirl, and even Azami has to take a moment concentrating on finding the equipoise between her chakra and the ocean. There is splashing in the back, and a long string of cursing.

She looks back and rolls her eyes, before facing him. With a question that everyone wanted to ask.

"She should've died. Why didn't you even stop to pause befor-"

"I grew up in this ocean," he says. "You don't forget waters like these." Then looking her straight in the eye. It isn't the answer she wants, but she chews it over, and nods.

"You kids are fucking crazy."

* * *

Karin and Suigetsu are at standing at the edge, watching them as they leap onto the canyon.

"Where's our towels and our tea?" says Haruka, cocking her head, both arms bandaged.

"Where's our Otokage is the better question," says Suigetsu. Karin hits him in the shoulder, and he shuts up.

"Shiro-kun," says Karin, "the council needs to see you."

He shrugs, follows them. Doesn't look back.

* * *

**X. Eskimo Kisses**

**_There is no modern romance_**

_._

_._

_._

It takes a long time

Naruto finds Sakura in bed, her arm wrapped around both Kanon and Yuki, still dressed in her medic tunic. They are breathing evenly, and Sakura does not move, until his body slides beneath the sheets. He knows all the faces of Sakura, but he finds this one as heart-breaking as always.

He wants to tell her everything. About the months after he left, and how years later, he was in Suna, and dark blue almost pasts him by. The old Naruto would have knocked him down and punched him in the face. This Naruto almost did.

But he looked strange in the dessert sun, gliding with that fucking supernatural grace of his. There was no pause or recognition, even as Naruto screamed his name, almost running towards him. His face was obscured but there was something set across the man's features that Naruto had never seen. He spent the rest of the day sitting in the sun. It took him months to realize the word was _peace. _After that, there were no more retrieval missions.

A hand slides above the covers, and he takes it, pressing it to his cheek. The whiskers have faded, but she traces them anyways.

Are you worried?He mouths across the children.

No. She tells him.

Naruto rolls his eyes, and Sakura wants to hit his shit-eating know-it-all face. Instead, she traces the muscles of his arm, circling his elbow, long wrists – _ulna, radia, phalanges_ - before slipping her fingers between his.

It'll be okay. She tells him.

And he answers by kissing every knuckle.

* * *

**XI. My Traveling Blues**

**_'Cause summer never comes Nowhere near high noon  
And winter never comes Nor the harvest moon_**

_._

_._

_._

The countryside is bigger than he imagines. Field after field of rice and wheat. Corn as tall as his father – and that word _father _which sounds even taller – cutting into his face and open skin.

The man in front of him is so different, as alien to him as is the landscape. He holds up his hand, and his son sits down, stretching out his lengthening legs, tan from these few days.

They can't sleep yet, not til they're out to sea or somewhere else. There is a plan, but he hasn't been able to ask about it. The words float up before he heaves it down.

They haven't spoken since the edge of Fire Country, when the man turned around, and paused. He gets it. It's a soldier's way, these small gestures.

"We'll have to go through the back alleys."

He misses home, _Konoha,_ so much it actually feels like a sickness. But here is his _father_, opening his palms, and spreading the world beneath his feet. Only Sound would consider it an apology – but he has a little of that, isn't he? A mixture of Konoha, and Sound, of the hospital and the battlefields. Full of questions only this man can answer.

So he says the only thing he can.

"Okay."

* * *

**XII. Outsiders**

**_I've seen some years  
But you're still my Caesar  
With everything I feel  
I feel you've already been here_**

**_The only difference is what might be is Now._**

.

.

.

He walks down the steps, looking back at what had been a temple, and now housed filing cabinets. Typical Sound.

Whistling a tune, he adds a jaunty spring into his steps, and leaps down towards the ground. He told them everything they had to know, even adding his own disqualification.

Funny, he thinks. Freedom tastes like fish and dango. He breathes in the sunset.

The sound of it has changed. Old timbers are missing, and new shutters are everywhere. He will ask around the next day, and find out that a quarter of Sound left after the news, and that meant more stayed.

"Shiro-chan?" Her voice is hoarse, but he spins around, and they are waiting for him.

"Chinatsu-kun, I see the morphine's left your system."

'She woke up an hour ago. You were in there a long time,' signals Isamu. He shrugs, and hesitates long enough for them to see it.

"Where you going, fishface? Off to make sweet sweet love?" She tries to stand up fully, a full head taller than him.

There is an indelicate pause. A weighing of pros and cons, and then.

"Fine" he says finally. "Follow me."

"If you're going to kill us, you shouldn't be obvious about luring us away." She says, crossing her arms.

"If I wanted to kill you, you would have accidentally suffocated already." He says, and walks towards the edge of the town. She laughs.

* * *

Later on, years after the Otokage returns with his son, and Chinatsu begins to chip away, Isamu will ask: why then?

Shiro will keep looking down. Because at night, my eyes are just as useless as yours, and then go back to stitching up his left hand.

And when he is on trial, and asked about the death of his teammate, he will shrug and remember this night.

"Stop." He says, and stops Chinatsu from falling off the cliffside. Leaf has streetlights and lamps. New Sound has stars. She taps the edge, and when her toes come back wet, she realizes it is not air, but a lake.

In the darkness, it spreads out before them, a mirror to a hundred stars, the sound of rushing water only an echo that stretches across the rocks and plains.

His back is turned. He does not need to see Chinatsu sigh, before nudging Isamu who grunts because his eyebrows are kinked.

"It trickles down into the ocean, eventually." His ocean, which is every ocean. All the waters are one, he now knows.

"Aww, how quaint." Chinatsu laughs, an apology only he'll understand. But he hears her scuffle while taking off her shoes, and Isamu following.

They step out onto the lake, barefoot. Each movement sending ripples through the sky below.

"Look." she says. Her words getting caught on her breath.

Behind them, there is dust and the winds of Sound. In front, only the soft kiss of night.

* * *

A/N: Lyrics by (respectively): Postal Service, Yeah Yeah Yeahs, Metric, Franz Ferdinand

Damn. That took way too long.

A long time ago...I began this story because I wanted to take the "sasuke comes back, but it doesn't work out," and it evolved, and grew. Until all my little characters had their own little story. And there's more of course. It's in my hard drive, in my head. The continuing lives of Shiro, Chinatsu, Isamu, as well as what happens to Naruto/Sakura/Sasuke in my universe. I'll post them up on the journal if they're good. Once upon a time, I hated OCs, and now they've kind of taken over. Zombies, the lot of them.

And now it's done. I know the numbers are off, and there are really wonky phrases everywhere... but hey, it's done.

So really. A billion thanks to every reviewer, reader, lurker, watcher, whatever. I hope you've enjoyed this as much as I have.

- viciously smitten


End file.
